


Absolution

by aperture_living



Category: OFF (Game)
Genre: Blood, Death, Domestic Violence, Drama, Gen, Off being Off, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:23:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aperture_living/pseuds/aperture_living
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He said nothing when he walked out, said nothing when he found the comforting weight of the nearest<i> toolinstrumentweapon<b>bat</b></i>, said nothing as he felt the smoothness<i>righteousness</i> of it in his hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Absolution

It was just a few words, a few words and a long list of diagnoses, twisted medical jargon that led to one predictable, wretched end in a box. Or urn. Whatever. It didn’t matter, fire or earth, the end was the end, and nothing they did would change that final and ultimate resolution. From now on, there were only pills and hospitals and doctors with invasive questions and proddings, and in time they would have nothing but the coldest memories of What Could Have Been. 

( _It didn’t matter that some of the specialists, the tall one in particular, snapped out that with the proper machines he could live for quite awhile, though not productively if they were being honest, but what did they know? Degrees meant nothing, nothing at all, because if they truly did, then this wouldn’t be happening in the first place, hm? They were as useless as the affliction, as impure as the misfiring body itself._ )

He said nothing in the hospital. He said nothing at home. He said nothing when he sat in bed at night, his feet on the cold floor while he thought about the inevitable epilogue. He said nothing when he walked out, said nothing when he found the comforting weight of the nearest _toolinstrumentweapon **bat**_ , said nothing as he felt the smoothness _righteousness_ of it in his hand.

It was her fault. _Hers_. Hers for having an unhealthy baby. Hers for not being good enough. Hers for being defective. Hers for being _impure_. She did it, didn’t she? Did all of this? Brought this torture to them? Failed as a carrier, failed as the most basic and natural thing a woman could do, and _how could this be when she had only one job to do_?

Her. Her alone. The mother, the queen of their wrecked little family. And now, defect breeds defect, and everything that was supposed to happen had been shattered. 

Broken. Wrecked.

She would try to hide things, try to cover the illness under protective mothering, under expansive desserts and festive parties, under things that had no right to exist. Covering her folly by sweeping it under the rug and claiming that she was doing it all for him. Hiding and masking her ultimate failure. Of course, he could see through it, see through all of it, and when the malfunctioning imperfect thing reached for him, he walked away. Names? Comfort? Closessnes? Not important. Nothing was important when there was no viable future. Why would they be? Broken things didn’t deserve names, shouldn’t want them.

They simply deserved to be fixed. 

She accused him of not knowing his name, and he didn’t deny it. Wouldn’t, because he wasn’t the one at fault here. Wouldn’t when he swung the bat, when it cut through the air, sliced through it with a windy metal whistle, when the strike of unrestrained savagery met supple flesh. This would stop it from happening again. This would halt all future mistakes before they could be born, and he knew that she only had herself to blame. This was a blessing, a mercy, a sacrifice; purification so further imperfections, further grains of suffering, could disappear before they start. 

And as the nerves misfired inside her, as her dying breaths carried affections he didn’t use anymore, he tightened his grip on the slippery bat and walked across blood and bone to the sacred duty inside.


End file.
